King's Cross Station
by o'shaku
Summary: Charlie's recruitment of foreign wizards is yielding results, one by the name of Edward Elric. Getting him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts position is only the first step to convince him to join the Order. X-over with OotP
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Charlie's recruitment of foreign wizards is yielding results, one by the name of Edward Elric. Getting him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts position is only the first step to convince him to join the Order. X-over with OotP

Disclaimer: All characters, locations in Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Edward Elric and the homunculus belong to Hiromu Arakawa.

* * *

><p>Kings Cross Station, a major railway station in London, one of several in fact. It was neither the biggest nor the busiest, yet it was from this station that the Hogwarts Express decided to make its departure. Of all the ways humans invented to travel, Edward Elric had always preferred trains. It reminded him of the years he spent in Amestris, travelling with Al. Amestris was a world he got, he grew up in it. The same could not be said for this world.<p>

Edward took out his ticket for the hundredth's time this morning, and for the hundredth time, the ticket read "Platform nine and three quarters".

"Who the hell numbers platforms in quarters?" he asked on one in particular. The question was rhetorical. Wizards, that's who. He stared glumly at the space between platforms 9 and 10, hoping to find a small, magical sign pointing to platform 9 3/4. The large clock hanging over the arrivals board read dangerous close to 11. Edward did not want to contemplate the consequences of missing this train.

It occurred to him that where ever platform 9 3/4 was, its location was common knowledge in the magical community. Since he couldn't ask for directions without revealing his ignorance of this world - not that the normal people in the station could help much, it is a magical place - Edward was on the prowl for the magical folk. One thing he learned very early following his induction in to the world of wizardry, was the most efficient – and inconspicuous – way blend in with the magical world is to follow other wizards. As the saying goes, "when in Rome…"

Magical folks were easy to spot, if you knew what you were looking for. It always amazed Edward, how isolated magical people are from their non-magical counter-parts, even when they lived in the same house. Magic developed in the absence of technology allowed the persistence of centuries old traditions and values, while the evolution of machines in the non-magical world forced its people to change to their environment. Sometimes, quite often actually, old magical families simply do not keep up with the lifestyle of the non-magical populace. This becomes glaringly obvious when they are forced to intermingle on occasions such as this.

He scanned the platforms for anyone who did not quite fit in, carrying uncommon pieces of luggage or wearing odd clothing. In his periphery, he spotted a small family. The father was tall with long, pale blond hair and a pointed face. He wore a long green cloak and an ornate cane. His wife was as tall as him. She was in a long, sweeping black dress that Edward thought was more suited for dinner at a high class restaurant than a trip on the train. They looked like aristocrats nearly a century out of date.

'_Bingo,_' he thought as a wide grin broke out of his face. '_Stand out like a sore thumb in this place._'

Only their son, having inherited the same pointed face as his father, seems to have the fashion matching the times, though the owl on his trolley made him stand out as much as his parents. He watched as the three approached the barrier separating platform 9 from platform 10, and in the blink of an eye, disappeared. The rational part of him thought he lost track the family in the crowd at first. Then he remembered the odd customs of wizards and witches.

"Right, secret entrances," he mumbled, picking up his own suitcase and headed to the barrier. It looked as solid as a rock. But looks can be deceiving, especially if magic's involved, Edward couldn't help but wonder if there was some secret latch he was supposed to pull first. Or maybe a sequential series of taps. Before he could test any of his theory, a boy of no older than twelve pushed his trolley right up to the barrier before disappearing behind it. There were no secret movements… he just simply walked up to the wall, and disappeared. Mustering up his courage, Edward marched resolutely towards the barrier – praying to whatever deity that listened he wasn't about to make a fool of himself by walking into a wall, not that he believed in gods. He was an atheist after all.

* * *

><p>The train was packed with children, students no doubt. Given the difficulty he had finding to the platform; there were hardly any empty compartments left. The only one he found was at the very end. He barely managed to stow his battered leather suitcase atop the luggage rack when the compartment door opened. A small, blond girl looked at him with disappointed, glassy blue eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but whatever she was about to say was cut off as the door slid close.<p>

Giving his suitcase one last push to make sure it was secure, Edward pulled the door back.

"Excuse me, you were about to say something," Edward asked. The girl turned back, her eyes widened in surprise.

"Y-Yes," her voice had a dreamy quality, "Is this compartment taken?"

Edward shook his head in reply, stepping away from the door to let the girl enter. She had her wand tucked behind her ear and was wearing a necklace strung of beer caps. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was the stranger of the magical folk. Somehow, Edward always suspected strangeness was inherited among wizards. She pulled out a magazine from her trunk before stowing it in the overhead compartment, and was rapidly engrossed. For a lack of better things to do, Edward turned his gaze back to the platform, more specifically, the barrier between the two platforms. Wondering forlornly how many more hidden barriers he would have to cross before he can get back home. It was then he noticed a man with a head of shocking red hair coming through.

'_Charlie_?' he thought.

On closer inspection, he was not. Charlie was shorter and stockier. This boy was much too young. He was accompanied by thin, balding man in pinstriped pants with an old bomber jacket, and a girl with big bushy brown hair. They made to join a larger group consisting of a plump red-head woman, spectacled boy with messy black hair and an old lady wearing a purple porkpie hat, serviced by a porter. As they loaded their luggage, he noticed the porter was sporting a limp and not helping the passengers at all. He seemed more intent on muttering to the old lady. They were joined by a set of twins and a girl, all with the same flaming red hair, accompanied by a graying middle-aged man in very tattered clothes. The plump woman was giving out multiple hugs, to which the twin boys showed much objection, leaving the group swiftly to join their friends. It made Edward nostalgic of the times Winry, Mustang, or Armstrong – or even Hughes – would see the Elric brothers off on their journey. Of course, there was no one but him now, not even his father (who died about 30 years ago, or so the records say).

Before he had time to contemplate the lingering presence of the limpy porter, skiving off his job, Edwards spotted a large shaggy black dog wagging its tail among the eclectic group. Edward froze as a wave of recognition hit. The train whistle blew and for a brief moment, the dog stood on its hind legs and padded the bespectacled boy with messy black hair on the shoulder.

"Dog-man," he gasped and leapt out of his seat.

He ran towards the front of the train, not bothering to apologize to the people he bumped into, but the doors were already shut.

"Sorry lad, the train's moving," said the attendant.

"But –" Edward argued, pushing the attendant out of the way. He pressed his hands on the door, and was about to alchemizing the door open, but the sight of the dog running after the train stopped him.

'_There's no doubt about it. It's him,_' Edward thought. '_It's Sirius._'

* * *

><p>Almost a year after Edward crossed the Gate, he was living in his father's cottage on the east coast of England. He went there in hopes of gaining more information about this world and to find a way to get back. He took to running in the early morning to stay in shape and to clear his mind. It was during one of these runs that he found a large black dog washed up on the beach. As he approached the pathetic creature, the dog promptly turned into a man. At first, Edward thought he'd ran into Envy, but the man simply lay there, unconscious. He dragged the dog-turned-man to his room and set about installing the strongest barricade possible without alchemy, just in case it really was Envy. A search of his soggy, tattered black robes revealed only a copy of a newspaper that remained remarkably dry in which the pictures moved.<p>

The Dog-man did not regain consciousness until the next morning. After a thorough interrogation, confirming he wasn't the blasted homunculus, Edward proceeded to extract as much information as possible about his transformation. From this man, Edward learned the existence of 'magic' and the users of said 'magic'. He spent the next three days in the cottage, days which Edward spent writing down everything he was saying – coded, of course.

The Dog-man's name, he learned (mostly because his face was plastered on every newspaper for a week), was Sirius Black - a wanted mass murderer. He sometimes wondered if he'd have taken the man in if he knew this beforehand. Not that Sirius showed any murderous tendencies towards Edward. On the contrary, he made for quite interesting company. He was most intrigued when Edward challenged the science behind "magic". In the end, Sirius directed him to Daigon Alley in London, where he "might find better minds to have a debate with", with a friendly advice, "try not to act like a muggle." (A "muggle" was someone who did not possess magic, which according to Sirius, Edward was not.) By the time Edward found out about his fugitive status, Sirius was long gone. His parting gift was a copy of the magical newspaper "Daily Prophet", though missing a photograph.

"Excuse me," said the peeved attendant, tapping Edward on the shoulder. "But I'm going to have to ask you to return to your seat."

"Ah, sorry," he said hastily. "I thought I saw an old acquaintance."

The attendant raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Edward made his way back to the end of the train.

From what he'd learned upon his arrive in London, Sirius Black was a dangerous criminal who murdered twelve muggles (non-magical people) and one wizard (magical person) in broad daylight. He was also, supposedly, the right-hand man of an extremely evil wizard (whom everyone knows, but no one must name), and an extreme muggle-hater. By association, this made Sirius an avid muggle-hater. The thirteen murders certainly seem to support this. Yet in his time spent with the convicted criminal, he did not give the aura of a killer. Being in the army since he was twelve, Edward had intimate knowledge of the ways of killers. On the contrary, he seemed quite amused by Edward's "muggle" ways. For in the first meeting, he made no secret he didn't believe in magic, even as he watched Sirius change from man to dog and back again half a dozen times. (Envy could do that too, and it wasn't because of magic.)

"Magic is what people call things they don't understand," he stubbornly insisted.

Since their impromptu meeting two years, Edward's been keeping an ear out for his whereabouts, but to no avail. King's Cross was the last place he expected to see Sirius. Seeing the way he was happily bounding after the train, he might as well be Den. And perhaps it was Winry, Granny Pinako, Mustang, and Armstrong behind him on the platform. He scoffed, but he still felt the dull pang of loss in his heart. When he returned to his compartment, it took him a second to realize it had three new arrivals.

* * *

><p>Harry and Neville were in the middle of stowing their trunks when the compartment door slid open. It was a handsome boy he did not recognize. He had piercing gold eyes and long blond hair tied in a pony tail behind his back, with long messy bangs hanging at the sides of his face. He was wearing thick white gloves and large red coat that obscured much of his person. Harry thought he couldn't have been much older than himself.<p>

"Sorry, but this compartment's full," said Ginny.

Golden eyes widened for a fraction of a second before turning to Luna, then Harry and Neville in one full sweep.

"I was here first," he pointed to a beaten leather suitcase on the steps that Harry previously thought belonged to the girl named Luna. He spoke an odd accent that Harry couldn't place.

"Oh, I didn't see," she sent a glance to Luna, who had not taken her gaze off of Harry. "Sorry," Ginny said hastily, a distinct blush creeping up her cheeks.

He waved his hand in dismissal and moved in to take the window seat.

"I'm Ginny Weasley by the way."

"Edward Elric," then he added, "You wouldn't be... do you have a brother named Charlie?"

Ginny blinked in surprise. "Yeah. How did you know him?"

"He mentioned he had a sister. And the hair is pretty much a dead giveaway." He let out a chuckle as Ginny flushed a colour that rivaled her hair. Harry noticed he didn't really answer the question.

"Um… yes, it is rather… identifiable."

His eyes seem to light up as he caught sight of Harry and the corner of his lips tipped slightly upward.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked, drawing the subject away from the Weasley hair.

"Yes," Luna replied, she had been watching unblinkingly over her upside down magazine. "Yes, it was quite enjoyabe, you know. _You're_ Harry Potter," she added.

"I know I am," said Harry. He stole a sideways glance at this Elric person, who looked quite amused.

Neville chuckled. Luna turned her pale eyes upon him instead.

"And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody," said Neville hurriedly.

"No you're not," said Ginny sharply. "Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure in man's greatest treasure," said Luna in a singsong voice.

She raised her magazine, high enough to hide her face and fell silent. The two boys looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. Ginny suppressed a giggle.

"Harry, Neville, and I are all Gryffindors," she explained. "So which house are you in?"

* * *

><p>The four houses were something Edward read about, as research in preparation for his job. Each of the founders of Hogwarts valued one quality above all else. So every student, since the founding of the school, has been sorted into one of these houses. The house of Gryffindor valued bravery and chivalry, Hufflepuff was loyalty and dedication, Ravenclaw was wit, and... There was one house, as he recall, the one Mustang would fit right at home. Ambition, determination and self-preservation: a complete description of the Colonel. It had a symbol of a snake, Ss.. Sly..<p>

"Slytherin?" He didn't realize he said it out loud until he saw the blanched looks on Harry, Neville and Ginny while the look of permanent surprise didn't change much on Luna.

"Oh," Ginny uttered.

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm not –" Having finally understood what's going on, Edward did his best to clear up the misunderstanding. But before he could explain, there was a sharp knock on the door followed by a cheerful voice.

"Anything from the trolleys, dear?"

Harry got out rather quickly, coming back with an armful of wizard candy, most of which Edward did not recognize. After the devouring of candy, which Edward was not a part of – not that he minded, wizard candy was not really to his tastes – Neville began talking about the cactus-looking thing that was his birthday present.

Edward took the time scrutinizing the bespectacled boy – Harry. He was sure Sirius patted him on the shoulder at the platform. He was just as sure that the crowd of redheads he saw was the rambunctious family Charlie so often talked about. So that means the Weasleys adopted Sirius? He almost wanted to laugh. Given the chance, he was sure Al would've adopted all the stray cats in Amestris. Then again, there was no danger of the cats secretly being murderers. On the other hand – maybe Sirius sought them out.

The picture missing from the news paper accompanied an article on a family of lottery winners – the Weasleys. Did Sirius leave to find the Weasleys because they came into money, so that he could secure himself a well-off family? He must've stayed as a dog to avoid detection. This explains why nobody has been able to catch him these last two years. Yet, he still couldn't shake the nagging feeling of suspicion. In his time with the military, he learned about infiltration: blending in with your surroundings as to catch your target off guard. Their family, though large, arrived in small, inconspicuous groups. Then there was that limpy porter. It had to be a disguise. Porters, while common in train stations, were rarely handicapped.

He was jolted out of his thought by a sharp scream, followed immediately by a splash of thick, slimy, green goo. It was thanks to his quick reflexes, developed under the tutelage of Izumi Curtis and honed through years in the army, that he managed not to get any of the goo on his face. His coat, on the other hand, was completely ruined.

"What the hell's this?" Edward yelled before Neville had the chance to apologize. The entire compartment was covered, and the smell of rancid manure was making him nauseous.

"S-sorry," Neville gasped. "I haven't tried that before... Didn't realize... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added as Harry spat a mouthful onto the floor. It appeared Harry was the only one to get a face full, save his eyes behind his glasses, maybe it had to do with the toad he was holding.

The door slid open and a girl with long black hair was standing in the doorway, smiling at Harry.

"Oh... hi," Harry said.

"Um... Well... Just thought I'd say hello...'bye then." And the girl left.

Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned.

"Who was that?" Edward asked.

"Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker," Ginny explained, shaking her head. She pulled out her wand. "Never mind. Look, we can get rid of all this easily. _Scourgify_!"

The Stinksap vanished. Edward was quite fascinated. He knew the Stinksap did not disappear, that would be against the Conservation of Mass, but where it went to, he did not want to find out. During his two years in the magical community, spells often confounded him with their blatant negligence of Equivalent Exchange. But further research showed one cannot always judge a book by its cover, or in this case, a spell by its cosmetic effect. What seemed like conjuration out of thin air was actually the reconstruction of an object from the decomposition of the same object elsewhere in a known or unknown location – proven by the fact that one cannot conjure something that does not exist. Spells, he discovered, was a compression of several alchemic pathways, each with its own array, into one movement of the wand. Edward, in all his genius, could only manage a few simple spells. He could do much more with the use of his wand, but then he would not have access to the combinations of arrays that produced the spell, not to mention it would go against everything he believed in as a scientist.

The train ride became pretty uneventful afterwards and Edward felt the irresistible pull of sleep. He did not notice the arrival of two more people: the lanky redhead he first thought was Charlie, and the bushy-haired girl he saw on the platform.

He was woken by the sound a scream of mirth, followed by metal clanks, flapping wings and a cat hissing. The laughing was from Luna, and whatever joke she heard was funny enough to send her gasping for breath.

"Have I missed something?" Edward wondered.

"No," Harry said quickly. "This is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, they've just been made Prefects," indicating the new additions. "That's Edward Elric," he said as the bushy-haired girl offered a hand with polite smile. "He's in Slytherin."

Hermione's faltered for a split second while Ron's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said, regaining her composure. Edward was beginning to get the feeling the title "Slytherin" had the same effect as "State Alchemist" did in Amestris.

"Likewise, but –"

"He knows Charlie," Harry interrupted, sharing a look with Hermione.

"Err... Yeah, we met in Romania."

"Really? Charlie never talked about anyone named 'Elric' before," Ron said, having picked up his jaw.

"I've only met him a couple of months ago."

"What were you doing in Romania?" Harry asked.

"Research."

"On what?" Hermione asked.

"Dragons, among others." His tone had a note of finality. The exact nature of his research was for Edward, and Edward alone, to know. There was a lull in the conversation and Harry took this opportunity to read Luna's magazine.

"Where are you from?" Hermione asked. The question caught Edward by surprise. "I mean, your accent. You don't sound like you're from around here," Hermione pressed.

"I travel a lot," he said, hiding his eyes behind his bangs.

He did have an accent. While he found the language spoken in London was almost the same as Amestris, there were some glaring pronunciation and semantic differences. This caused no small amount of confusion when he first came, but it also became his scapegoat when he revealed himself as hopelessly uninformed in current events. Added to that, a year in Germany probably permanently marked his pronunciation of 'v's and 'w's.

Edward was saved from further questioning when Harry closed the magazine, and all attention turn on him.

"Anything good in there?" Ron asked.

"Of course not," said Hermione scathingly. "_The_ _Quibbler's_ rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna, her voice had suddenly lost its dreamy quality. "My Father's the editor."

"I - oh," said Hermione.

Luna snatched the magazine back and disappeared behind its pages (upside down) just as the compartment door opened once more.

Edward recognized the tall blond with the pointed face, but he did not recognize the two larger boys flanking his sides. The size match-up was like the teenage version of Izumi and Sig, if only Izumi was blond and Sig had a brother.

"What?" Harry said aggressively, before any of them could open their mouths. Edward wondered if he was this aggressive to everybody.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," said the boy, whose voice seemed to drawl on. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

He was distinctly reminded of Lt. Yoki from the mining town of Youswell.

"Yeah, Malfoy," said Harry. "But you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Edward found himself laughing too.

"Picking up a fan club, Potter?" he sneered. "Who's the pipsqueak joining your pack?"

With a flurry of red, Edward landed a punch on Malfoy's face. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A RUNT SO TINY HE COULD ONLY BE SEEN WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS, YOU JERK!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione were frozen in shock, so were Crabbe and Goyle. Several heads were poking out of the other compartments, trying to catch what's going on.

"ARGG! You'll pay for this!" said Malfoy, pulling out his wand. "Attacking a prefect!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione immediately stood up and were pulling out their wands. But before Malfoy could cast a spell, he was sideswiped in the head and he was sent flying to the floor. His wand rolled down the corridor. The two larger boys lunged at Edward. In two swift movements, they too were on the floor.

"Nobody calls me a pipsqueak and gets away with it!" Dark shadows obscured the top half of Edwards face, leaving only his angry eyes visible. Stepping over the prone forms of the two larger boys, Edward raised his fist as if in preparation for another fight. "So now, you were saying something?"

Malfoy gulped in fear. His eyes darted back and forth between his wand and the figure standing above him. He picked himself off floor and carefully walked around Edward. "Crabbe, Goyle, we're leaving." said Malfoy patting the dust off his pants, Malfoy regained his sneer. "Watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be _dogging_ your every step."

"Go away!" screeched Hermione. A cheer erupted some compartments down. She turned to look at Harry, sharing another look.

"Way to go!" said one of the redheaded twins, making their way to their compartment.

"That was a mean left hook," the other twin added.

"Figured Malfoy needed a nose job," the first one laughed, extending a hand to Edward. "I'm Fred Weasley."

"George Weasley," said the other.

"Edward Elric." He shook their hands.

"Where did you learn to throw a punch like that?" Fred asked.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Hermione interrupted, turning to Edward. "He's your prefect, attacking him like that... he could make life very difficult for you."

Edward was about to cut her off but Ron beat him to it. "Come on Hermione, that was bloody awesome! Malfoy looked like he was about to piss in his pants!"

Almost a once, all the hostility towards him dissipated. The atmosphere was like when he saved Youswell. It made him feel a better, because no matter where he was, he was still Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Harry didn't join the cheering and soon Fred and George went back to their own compartment. The train continued on its way north and Edward fell asleep once again. A sharp jab to the side woke him.

"We're almost at Hogwarts."

Edward groaned, staring out to the rain, and tried his best to ignoring the pain flaring up in his shoulder and leg.

"I think we should change now," said Harry, after Edward gave him no response.

Hermione and Ron pinned their badges on their robes and the train began to slow down. Edward yawned before getting up and getting his trunk.

"You know, you really should change into your uniform before we off the train," said Luna, carrying an owl.

"I don't have one." Edward answered simply. Before anyone could ask any more question, they began shuffling out of the train.

The night was cold, which was not a good thing for his auto-mail. His knee joint locked and he nearly stumbled on the first step down. He followed the students down a dark rain-washed road outside the station. He saw Harry with his friends, starting at the carriages. Edward made his way to join him.

"What are those things, d'you reckon?" Harry asked Ron, nodding to the black-winged creatures pulling the carriage.

"What things?"

They were joined by Luna, with owl still in hand. "Here you are," she said. "He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?"

"Er... yeah... He's all right," said Ron gruffly, taking the owl. "Well, come on then, let's get in... what were you saying, Harry?"

"I was saying, what are those horse things?"

"What horse things?"

"The horse things pulling the carriages!" said Harry impatiently, standing not further than three feet away to the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming.

Edward had seen them once before, in the forest of Albania, and he had been warned to stay away. In fact, he was the only one out of his three companions at the time to see these winged creatures.

"Some people can't see them," Edward said, as Harry turned to look at him, still wearing in his red coat. "And some people can."

"See what?"

"The things pulling the carriages," he replied.

"You can see them too," Luna's dreamy voice drifted from behind him.

"Yes," Edward sighed, approaching in which Hermione and Ginny were already sitting. "Shall we get in then?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, go on..."

"You're not in uniform," Hermione pointed out as soon as Edward sat down.

"I know."

"You're going to have points taken off when the professors see you."

"Who cares, Snape'll give you the points right back in the next potions class," said Ron.

"That's not the point, Ron," Hermione reprimanded.

Harry did not want to have to listen to another one of Ron and Hermione's arguments and there was much he wanted to ask about the horses.

"So what are they?"

"Thestrals," Edward muttered, more to himself than Harry. His eyes did not depart from the winged horses. "I didn't know they had them here."

"Thestrals?" Hermione asked, eyes slightly narrowing.

"Yeah, outside pulling these carriages." Everyone turned to Edward, most showing clear surprise.

"There's nothing pulling these carriages," said Ginny. "The carriages pull themselves."

Edward scoffed. "Just because you can't see them, doesn't mean they're not there."

"Are there really thestrals pulling these carriages?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, that's what I said. Isn't it?" said Edward, sounding very annoyed.

"What are these 'thestrals'?" Harry asked, feeling out of the loop. "And why can't anybody see them?"

"That's because the only people who can see thestrals," Hermione said shakily, looking uncertainly at Edward. "are people who have seen death."

"Death? As in dead people?"

"No, Ron," said Hermione, exasperated. "Death as in seeing someone die."

The cabin was enveloped by an uncomfortable silence. Harry couldn't help but wonder whose death Edward saw. The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned his eyes upon the thestrals. Its black nostrils forming vapors in the chilly night and it was watching him with empty white eyes.

"Are you coming or what?" said Ron beside him.

"Oh . . . yeah," said Harry quickly, and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Well... this has been sitting in my computer for over a year. After many system re-installs, I was afraid I'd loose this. I've already lost a later draft of the story (buried in some back-up that I probably forgot to file and then decided to wipe the hard drive thinking it's got nothing important). So I thought: 'what the heck, might as well just put it out there.'<p>

I'm NOT a prolific writer... so expect infrequent updates.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All characters, locations in Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. Edward Elric and the homunculus belong to Hiromu Arakawa.

* * *

><p>The entrance hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. He barely made it past the front doors before a man in black sweeping robes stopped him.<p>

"Edward Elric, I presume," he said. He was sallow-skinned with hooked nose and greasy hair. His eyes lingered on Edward's red coat, which stood out like a sore thumb among the black cloak of the students.

"I did warn you," Hermione hissed quietly. Ron rolled his eyes

"Er… Yeah."

"Come with me. Professor Dumbledore is expecting you," he said. Eyeing the battered leather suitcase in still clutched Edward's hand, the man shouted. "Dobby!"

With a sharp CRACK, a small creature with large bat-like ears and long pointed nose appeared. Edward's surprise quickly gave way to curiosity as it was the first time he's seen a house-elf. It was wearing a green tea towel, which clashed horribly with his green skin. Its large bulging green eyes roamed from Snape, to Edward, to Harry and back to Snape.

"Yes, Professor Snape, Sir," it said in a high-pitched voiced. "Does Harry Potter need Dobby, Sir?"

"No. Mr. Potter should, by now, be capable of finding the Great Hall all by himself," he said. His lips were curled in a nasty scowl. "Take Professor Elric's trunk to his office."

"Yes, Professor Snape."

Before Edward could issue a word protest, the creature named Dobby jerked the suitcase out of his hand and with a resounding CRACK, disappeared.

"Professor?" Hermione gasped. "You mean he's a –"

"That's none of your concern, Granger," Professor Snape snapped and made to turn away. Edward sent her an apologetic look before following his sweeping black robes through the double doors.

"I am Serverus Snape, the Potions Master," he said, taking swift strides past the four long tables evenly spaced along the length of the Great Hall. His voice carried distinctly amidst the chatter of the students. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to aid you in adjusting to Hogwarts."

Edward got the feeling it wasn't on a voluntary basis. Snape continued. "Your office is on the second floor, last door to the right. Meals will be taken in the Great Hall. If you miss it, the kitchens are…"

He stopped listening as he took in the sights of castle. He read all about it in _Hogwarts: A History_. The ceilings above the Great Hall were enchanted to look like the sky (due to a manipulation of light he suspected, a feat too complicated for even the most talented alchemists). A change in air density caused the candles to float. The most interesting things he found were the silvery ghosts. Having met a few in his travels, he theorized that they were souls those who, at the moment of their deaths, had resisted the pull of the Gate. The bodies were taken as a physical entity, but the soul remained. In a way, it was similar to what happened to Al, only Al would've been taken had he not bound him to a suit of armor.

Snape led him to an empty seat at the staff table. To his left was the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, a man with so short a stature that he sat on a pile of books to see over the table – the schadenfreude in him was dancing with glee. On his other side sat a squat woman with a broad, flabby face and a very wide, slack mouth. Snape made no introductions for this woman before taking his own seat at the far end of the table. The Hall abruptly quieted down when a stern looking woman with her hair in a tight bun entered through a side door, leading a long line of scared-looking first years. They came to a stop in front of the staff table where she placed an old, pointed, black hat, on top of a three-legged stool.

The 'Sorting' was a process where the old hat, after it finished singing, gets placed on a student's head and shouts out one of the four houses. The process of placing one's soul inside an inanimate object was not new, not to Edward at least. But it would be interesting to figure out how pieces of four different souls got along sharing one body. Not that it was impossible. Case and point: death-row inmate No.48, the Slicer Brothers.

He felt his stomach grumble at the lengthy line and was more than happy to see the last of the first-years being sorted. He caught sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. All three would turn away as soon as they eyes met. The old wizard in the middle of the staff table sent Edward a brief smile before standing up to give a very short speech. Albus Dumbledore was the archetype of wizards in children's stories. He was wearing half-moon glasses, had long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. He was wearing deep purple robe scattered with silvery stars and a matching pointed hat.

As food appeared on the tables, Edward spared no thought for where it came from and dug in with enthusiasm. He piled his plate with steak and roasted potatoes. He was glad the magical world was not in the habit of drinking milk and took great pleasure in drowning his glass of pumpkin juice.

"If you don't mind, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Delores Umbridge, from the Ministry of Magic," said the squat woman in a pink cardigan seated to his right. Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish, but her teeth were pointy and sharp, like a shark.

Edward's mouth was so full of food that he couldn't give her an immediate answer.

"Delores, this is Edward Elric, Hogwarts' new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Dumbledore, interceding on his behalf. "As you can see, he is not a fabrication of my imagination."

"Of course," Delores replied, giving Dumbledore a scathing smile before turning her attention back to Edward. "But there's still the matter of the Ministry having no records of you, Mr... _Elric_, is it?"

"Yes. I'm not from around here," said Edward, having swallowed his food. "Maybe that's why –"

"Yes, yes, but I have been though the records for all of the ministries in Europe. The earliest records only dated to two years ago, when you came of age," she smacked her lips in anticipation. "Tell me Mr. Elric, where did you go for schooling?"

"I didn't," said Edward. At the startled looks of everyone at the table, he hastily added. "I had a teacher who taught me what I needed to know."

"Home school! Well, then Dumbledore, this is more reason for ministry oversight. The Minister of Magic has a responsibility to ensure the quality of our education remain of the highest standard."

Maybe it was the earlier comment about him being 'a fabrication' (Was she implying he was so small that you need a microscope to be seen?), or her implication that he was 'incompetent' (That woman wouldn't survive an hours of Izumi Curtis' teaching!), but Edward felt very much dislike for this Delores Umbridge.

"You must be very talented to have this job at your age," she said. "I'm looking forward to seeing your skill."

"Thank you, I think, I'll try not to disappoint."

"Before you came along, the Ministry was going appoint someone," Umbridge paused, as if for dramatic effect. "This job is quite unpopular among the general public."

"Are you talking about the curse?" He swallowed the last bit of his apple pie, ignoring her shock at his bluntness. He couldn't help the grin spreading over his face at the memories his good friend, Rolf, making jibes about his sanity for taking the job. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't planning on staying here for more than a year anyways."

Before Umbridge could say anything more, Dumbledore stood up again and all the food disappeared.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," he said. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students – and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have some changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Elric, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

A loud cheer broke out of the Gryffindor table, led mostly by Fred and George Weasley. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs whispered frantically amongst themselves and the Slytherins hissed at the new appointment. Most of the girls, regardless of their houses, were clapping almost as enthusiastically as the Gryffindors. Dumbledore looked amused by the wide range of responses and continued.

"We also welcome from the Ministry of Magic, Ms. Umbridge, Hogwarts' first High Inquisitor."

The clapping and cheering came to an abrupt end. Several students were mouthing the word "High Inquisitor" to their neighbours.

Dumbledore seemed not to take notice. "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the –"

He broke off. The rustle of her cardigan alerted Edward that Umbridge had got to her feet. With a "Hem, hem," it became clear that she was intending to make a speech.

Most of the staff was either very surprised or very upset. Dumbledore sat down and look alertly at Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Edward found it hard to believe that Dumbledore liked this woman any more than he liked milk. Yet from the attentive look on his face… Edward smirked. He'd only seen this kind of PR skill in people who really wanted to get to the top, such as the likes of Roy Mustang.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge simpered, "for those kind words of welcome."

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

The suddenly childish voice startled more than a few people. She cleared her throat again, with a little "_hem_, _hem_" and started again, in a much more business-like fashion.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Umbridge bowed to the staff. When Edward met her eyes and he saw a great disapproval. She looked away and continued with a "Hem, hem".

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged..."

Truthfully speaking, Edward hadn't spent much time in Britain, let alone _magical_ Britain. It's been years since he's been back, and its politics were all quite foreign. Even when he was in Amestris, he was never all that concerned with government and politics. Still, he couldn't help but feel something… odd about Umbridge's speech. 'Progress for progress's sake must be discouraged?' If that's the Wizards' attitude, then everyone would still be stuck in the Middle Ages! Humans were made to progress. Every new generation would find themselves pushed to the frontiers of knowledge, of belief. Anyone who thinks they can stop progress is deluding themselves. Ah, but what business was his if the wizards would rather live in an age with no sewage system or internal combustion engines – they seem to be doing a pretty good job lagging behind already.

'_I shouldn't be here. This is not my world. Don't get involved. Their problems are not my problems. Just focus on getting home,_' he told himself – ignoring the distinctly Al-like voice in his head asking '_is this what your father thought when he acted as advisor to Winston Churchill during the war_?'

When Umbridge finished her speech, Dumbledore clapped. Most of the staff followed his lead. Some students too, but before they could applaud properly, Dumbledore stood up.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he said bowing to her, and continued with the rest of his start-of-term announcements. There was a great clattering and banging when the students were dismissed. Edward too was about to leave when a long slender hand landed on his shoulder.

"Would you like to join me in my office for a little while, I have something I think you'll be interested in," said Dumbledore.

"Sure..."

He followed Dumbledore as he led the way up the marble staircase, all the way to the seventh floor. By the time they reached the last staircase, Edward was beginning to regret acquiescence. Walking up so many flights of stairs in such foul weather was not helping with easing the pain of his auto-mail.

"I apologize, Edward, that we did not have the opportunity to meet before this evening," said Dumbledore. "I hope you had a pleasant journey on the Hogwarts Express."

'_Ahh, the obligatory pleasantries,_' thought Edward.

"It was fine," he replied. "I had the chance to meet some of the students."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, was it."

"Yeah, him." Edward inwardly cringed.

"As a Professor, please refrain from assaulting any of the students," said Dumbledore bemusedly. "However, since the train ride was, strictly speaking, before the start of the term. There can be no disciplinary action from the Board of Governors will be most displeased,"

"Uh... Thanks," said Edward. It would be a record, even for him, to be fired before his first day on the job.

They stopped in front of a stone gargoyle. "Pepper Imps" and the gargoyle moved aside to reveal a hidden staircase. Edward eyed at gargoyle with keen interest before following the Headmaster. It was as big circular office - almost as large as the Führer's in Central – with many silvery instruments whizzing and wheezing. The walls were covered with portraits of snoozing wizards. Standing on the golden perch behind the large oak doors was a beautiful bird with red and golden plumage. He didn't recognize the species, but he was never the naturalist.

"I must say, your latest paper on the use of elder wood in wand making is most intriguing," Dumbledore said as he took a seat behind the giant claw-footed desk in front of the window.

"If I'd known it was going to be published, I would've edited it more," said Edward. '_And cut out some of the more sensitive information,_' he added in his head, memories of his argument with Gregorovitch were still fresh.

"Believe me, it was already very impressive," Dumbledore was clearly misunderstanding what he meant by '_edit_'. "Charlie told me you're quite interested in the works of the late Nicolas Flamel."

"Among others," he said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Interested enough to attend his funeral with a stolen invite –"

"It wasn't stolen," he said hotly.

"But neither was it for you, Edward."

And that was how Edward realized he walked right into Dumbledore's trap. The hundred or so retorts he had in mind disappeared with a pop. Since their very first meeting, Edward always felt inexplicably apprehensive around the man. His perceptiveness made him feel utterly exposed. He was also the only person Edward believed to be intelligent enough to be capable of decoding his research. All is to say, Dumbledore was dangerous. The most friendly, dangerous man he's ever met.

The silence stretched, and with neither willing to give until…

"You see, Nicolas was an old friend of mine. His intellect and his many years have brought him to areas of magic that are both beautiful and terrible. But such knowledge was not obtained without cost. For Nicolas and Perenelle, I can only imagine the terrible weight on their minds."

"But they still did it," said Edward, barely keeping the anger out of his voice. "They made the Stone and lived off it for six hundred years."

"Ahh, so you _do_ know," said Dumbledore sitting back in his chair, he crosses his fingers in front of him. "Then why do you pursue the subject relentlessly so?"

Edward blanked. It took several second for him to comprehend Dumbledore's question.

"You mean… you think I want the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Are you not?" There was a look of genuine surprise on the old man's face. "Was that not the reason you were at his funeral?"

"You – you think I was after the Stone!" Edward burst out laughing. All the while Dumbledore stared in shock. Coming to an abrupt stop, he continued, losing all traces of levity. "No fucking way. There's no fucking way I would use that thing."

"Then all the more curious," said Dumbledore. "What other reason you had to…"

"You've got it all wrong," Edward smirk, feeling confident for the first time in the meeting. "I didn't want the Stone to use it. I had to first see if the Stone was real – I've run into fakes, you know. And if it was – and if it was made with the same method as one I know – then I wanted to destroy it. The Philospher's Stone – the _true_ Philosopher's Stone – should never exist. The way he made it –" he shuddered involuntarily.

"Men are prone to many foolish things in their youth," said Dumbledore. The statement sounded self-directed, though it could easily be applied to Edward. "But wise men learn from their mistakes, and atone for them. Nicolas, I believe, was trying to do just that."

Edward nodded. There was no way Dumbledore could know anything about _his_ foolish acts of youth.

"I also believe you to be very bright, and will stand with the Great Good. It's played no small role in why you are sitting here today." Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a book. "This – " placing the thick leather tome on his desk. "Was imparted to me as part of his will. Handwritten by Nicolas himself. The culmination of the collaboration with one Theophratus Bombastus Van Hohenheim. Quite unique, as you might imagine –"

"You can cut the crap, old man." Edward spat, desperately trying to calm the frantic pace his heart was sent to with just that one word. "What do you want?"

"As blunt as always, Edward," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll get right to the point, then." He paused, which Edward thought wasn't very 'to the point'.

Dumbledore seemed to be searching his face for something before asking. "How much has Charlie told you of Lord Voldemort's return?"

Edward blinked. He was expecting more questions about Hohenheim, or Flamel. But this Lord-something… what did Charlie say exactly?

"Just that he has, returned that is.".

"Do you believe it?"

Edward frowned.

"I don't know."

Despite his blasé demeanor at dinner, Edward really did need this job. It wasn't that he was short on money or anything. It's just – being at Hogwarts gives him access to one of the largest library in Europe. (Dumstrang would never let Edward even get close to the school.) Not to mention his father's cottage and his vault were both in Britain. He picked his words carefully to explain.

"The word from the streets is that you're off your rocker. Spreading rumours, inciting panic, trying to usurp the Minister. But someone as well established as you wouldn't need to resort to spreading fear through lies," His brain was turning faster than he could speak. Running through every piece of news he gathered about this He-Whom-Everyone-Knows-But-No-One-Must-Name after he met Sirius, and for the first time, seriously considered the political situation in the Wizarding world.

"Hope wins the heart of more people than fear," said Edward. "I don't believe this would be the method for you to take the Minister's chair. But if he died thir – no, fourteen years ago, then the dead can't come back."

"What about a third possibility, Edward, that he did not die, his soul lingered, powerless for the next fourteen years?"

"You have on good authority he's regained his strength?" he asked.

"I do."

Edward considered this too. He had no doubt Dumbledore is a master manipulator, but even Edward knew not to pick 'fear' as his _modus operandi_ to a raise in public status. But the dead cannot be brought back. Does this mean, having eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?

"Then I am willing to entertain the possibilities he has returned."

"That is all I ask," said Dumbledore, sounding much relieved. He handed the book to Edward, like a teaching giving a student an award for giving the correct answer. Edward would've been quite annoyed if he wasn't too focused on the book in hand. He barely heard Dumbledore when he spoke again.

"The Minister is set on the denial of the imminent threat Voldemort poses in an effort to protect his office and the temporary peace during which he presided. He has determined I am the source of a pernicious plot to unseat him. Lord Voldemort will not hide forever. When he makes his move, Fudge's neglect will be paid by the blood of innocents. Edward, I have just one more question for tonight," he addressed the teen again. "What do you know about the Order of the Pheonix?"

For the first time that evening, Edward met the electric blue eyes of the old headmaster. Those eyes seemed to stare right into his soul. Suddenly, he felt a sharp jab in the back of his head. Dumbledore averted his eyes, but not before Edward saw a mixture of shock and surprise flitter across his face.

"What did you do?" said Edward, jumping out of his chair up.

Dumbledore looked away in shame. "Legilimency," he continued after Edward showed no sign of comprehension. "It's a way of letting me see your thoughts."

"_Mind_-_reading_?"

To say Edward was angry would be akin to saying Mount Everest is a hill. Dumbledore could only sit back and watch as Edward came within five seconds of blowing the whole castle apart.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I needed to know the truth," Dumbledore pleaded.

"Truth?" he spat, grabbing the man by his crazy purple robe. "If you know anything about Truth – you wouldn't _dare_ to take it from my head."

Dumbledore did not protest. Years of experience have taught him the best way to calm an angry teen is to let him lash out. And Edward had more than enough justification to be angry. His non-resistance worked as Edward released his hold. He turned away and made to leave.

He stopped at the door to the staircase and said in a quiet voice. "You wanted to know what I thought, so here is – you don't need your Legilimen-whatever – I don't care. Not about your Order or your war with this Moldy-Wart. It doesn't matter who wins or loses. Your fight doesn't involve me. As long as I remain uninterrupted in my work…"

With that, Edward pushed the doors open and left Dumbledore with the sound of his footsteps ringing against the marble stairway, one foot heavier than the other.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: What? Edward reads Sherlock Holmes? Alas, allow this author to indulge herself in this piece of Earth culture.<p>

This chapter has gone though innumerable revisions, though I'm still not completely happy with it... but I really hope you like it. Please tell me if/when you spot any mistakes!

In other news: I found more pieces of this story in my computer! This is exciting because not only has it greatly improved the quality of this (and next) chapter, it gives me bits and pieces of much later parts of the story, which should make writing much faster… when I get around to it.

Apparently, copies of _Daily Prophet_ are NOT charmed to repel water. There are in fact several references in the novels of _sodden_ newspaper. But Fudge, being Fudge, charmed his own copy. Hence Sirius' copy was dry even after that treacherous swim across the North Sea, and Edward got his first encounter with _magic_. Heehee. Convenient explanations are awesome.

Also, Lucius Malfoy was sacked from the board of governors in book two… but I didn't want to change that line… he's been un-sacked.

Thank you readers, I'm absolutely flattered by the response this fic is getting. Your reviews are motivation for me to work on the next chapter.

So who's excited about Ed's first class with the Golden Trio? I know I am!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Please do note the rating. If it wasn't made obvious in the manga, Edward has a potty mouth. He's not going to get cleaned up just because he's sharing a lower target audience age.

* * *

><p>Edward woke to the sound of pouring rain. The sky was a murky grey, thick with heavy cloud cover. It was dawn – far too early for him to be up. But he couldn't <em>will<em> himself back to sleep. He suppressed a hiss of pain as he rolled out of bed. The dull ringing in the back of his head that started sometime after coming back from Dumbledore's office has receded somewhat, though it served as a nasty reminder of the events last night His headache, combined with the pain in his metal limbs, put him in a foul mood.

It wasn't that he was afraid of Dumbledore seeing what he thought him and this whole crack-pot world – it saves the trouble of him saying it out loud. But he had secrets, some too private to share, others too dangerous to reveal. The mind is rather like a smorgasbord of memories, emotions, thoughts that bind the body to the soul (or the Soul to the Body). It is intangible, unlike the body, or the soul. It's rather shocking that _magic_ could open the path to the mind, and render _legible_ to another. Peeking into another mind is a little like… like that first time through the Gate. No? _Ah – _no. He did not want to dwell on that. . Fact of the matter is being around someone who could look into your head was dangerous. He had half a mind to try one of those tin hats he once saw the UFO fanatics wore. There was always the option of packing his bags and taking his work somewhere else. He squashed the idea before it even took shape; Edward has never, and will never, run away. (He burned downed his house to prove it.)

His silver pocket-watch showed it was only six-thirty – breakfast would not start for another hour. Edward rummaged around his desk for some quill and parchment, and penned a short letter to Gregorovitch, his mentor for the past two years. Igor Gregorovitch took him in at a time when he was lost, confused, and very much in need of someone to explain what in the world this magic stuff is. But of course, none of it would've happened if it weren't for Elicia Hughes-Kaufmann.

_Liebe Elicia,_

_Wie geht es dir? _

_I got your Apfelkrapfen from Alfons at the stopover in Berlin. As ever, they were absolutely delicious – _and reminded him so much of Gracia's apple pie._ Thank you so much – though you didn't have to go through such trouble for me._ _Next time I pass by Bucharest, I'll try to find more of that honey you like. For now, I'll be staying in Britain. The weather's just as wet as I remembered, but the food is great. (No milk!) It'll be difficult from now on to get regular mail, so I'll try to owl often. _

_Send my regards to your grand-daughter._

_Machs gut,_

_Edward_

It had been most jarring to see little Elicia as an 80-year old lady when memories of her as a toddler were still fresh in his mind. (He had a hard time picking his jaws off the floor when he saw the old black-and-white photo of Maes, Gracia and a baby bundle in between.) But then he supposed it wasn't really this Elicia he knew. She had been most kind to Edward, and Igor, not to mention very accepting of the magic they brought to her house.

Satisfied with his letters, he tucked them in his pocket. Now if he only remembered where Snape said the Owlery was…

There were only a handful of students in the Great Hall when he arrived for breakfast. The staff table was almost entirely empty, and a part of him was relieved to find the headmaster's chair was as well. He piled on the toast and the eggs, and tried to figure out if the flat piece of dried fish was actually meant to be eaten. Edward was munching on his second helping of potatoes when the strict looking woman he recognized from the Sorting approached him. She introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, and handed him a thick stack of paper.

"These are your class schedule and a roster of students," she said briskly. "Now, your predecessor was not able to leave a syllabus, but you may want to consult notes from previous years – I believe Madame Pince keeps a record of them in the library."

"Th-Thank you," said Edward. He muffled a curse when he saw his first class was immediately after breakfast.

"In addition," Minerva McGonagall continued. "Our _High Inquisitor_" she enunciated with thinly veiled distain, "will be conducting inspections of all classes."

"Inspections?" he asked tentatively. He wondered if they were anything like the annual State Alchemist assessments.

"Yes. It was ratified by the Board of Governors late last night," she said. "The details have not been made clear, but I expect she will be sitting in one of your classes, maybe ask some questions. You will be notified by Ms. Umbridge of the date and time." He breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, he used to make up his State Alchemist reports on the fly, but he had no such confidence in his teaching abilities to be so slapdash – especially when the subject is _magic_. She must've picked up on his discomfort, for she peered at him over her square-rimmed glasses said, "take this as a little advice from someone who's been teaching for many years. New professors tend to find it easier to follow the assigned text. And – try not to get on her bad side."

With a curt nod, she made her way down to the four long tables, handing out more pieces of paper. Edward was about to settle back to his chair when a swath of midnight blue swept past him. There was only one person in the world flamboyant enough to wear _that_ to breakfast.

"Good morning, Edward," said the Headmaster. "I'm glad to see you are still with us."

"It's not like there's much choice," he replied shortly, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "First train out of here doesn't leave till this afternoon."

"I owe you an apology, Edward." And he almost choked on his drink. Dumbledore continued quietly. "You have come at an unfortunate time. What I said to you last night – we are, for the lack for better words, in the midst of a war, whether some admit it or not. We are in need of allies, allies with talent such as yourself, allies that I can trust."

"Funny way to earn someone's trust, if you ask me," he scoffed, though somewhere deep inside, he understood.

"I believed it was for the greater good." Edward could see the conviction in his piercing blue eyes. They weren't just twinkling under the morning light; they were burning with the fire of a thousand suns. "Ah, Filius. Enjoying your first night back at the castle?"

Edward whipped around to find the diminutive professor whom he sat beside during dinner.

"Good Morning, Professor Dumbledore," he said in a very squeaky voice. "As my wife used to say, I spend so much time at the castle that I might as well be home."

Filius and Dumbledore exchanged a few more pleasantries before taking leave for his high chair. Edward was mindlessly picking at his eggs when a swoop of owls descended upon the four long tables – dropping packages, letters and a splatters of rain.

"Where are the owls housed when they're not delivering letter?" Edward wondered out loud.

"Oh, Professor Elric," Filius squeaked. "You must be quite new to the castle. The Owlery's in the West Tower. Fastest way to get there is to just walk across the courtyard, but it's not so pleasant in this weather."

"Thanks, uh…"

"Filius Flitwick," he answered his unasked question. "Professor of Charms. That's Wihelmina," indicating the elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair teaching Care of Magical Creatures. "You've already met Severus. There's Pomona Sprout, Herbology, and Aurora Sinstra, hmm… she's not at breakfast too often. And – ah, Charity, good morning."

"Mornin' to you too, Filius," said the plump woman with her hair in bob, whom Filius called Charity. "How was your first night at Hogwarts, Professor Elric?"

"It's fine," he lied. "But I'm still trying to get used to this place."

"Well, I'm Charity Burbage, head of Muggle Studies. If you ever need help with anything, don't be shy. I know how confusing the castle might be at first, with all the moving staircases, hidden entrances."

"Oh yes," Filius piped up. "Why, you were just asking about the Owlery, weren't you, Elric?"

"Yeah, I've got a couple of letters to send."

"Then you'd better get going. Breakfast will be over soon," said Charity. "Don't want to be late for first day of class"

"No, I suppose not." With a curt nod to Filius and Charity, Edward took off for the Owlery

The West Tower was indeed not hard to find. The fluttering of owls and the smell of bird droppings immediately gave it away. He coaxed a large barn owl to his hand with a small offering of bread crumbs. Its feathers flared with displeasure when he tied two letters around its legs and informed the bird of its destination in Bavaria. With some extra sharp nips to pick up the last of the bread in his auto-mail hand, the owl took flight into the rain.

Just as Charity warned, the bell tolled just as the owl disappeared into the sky. Stifling another curse, he dashed back across the courtyard and into the castle. Pushing through newly flaring pain in his automail, he ran down the empty corridor. He was back near the entrance hall when his foot – the metal one, the one doesn't feel anything – hit an unexpected bump on the smooth marble floor.

"What the –"

The creature, a dust coloured cat, yowled and sank its claws into his pant leg. He looked at the creature and was trying to figure out the best way to dislodge it without ripping his pants when a voice called.

"What's happening? Mrs. Norris!"

Along came wheezing down the corridor, a man with horribly hunched back and shoulders. The cat, Mrs. Norris, released its hold on his pants and darted back towards him. It rubbed against the man's legs and hissed at Edward.

"What's he done to you, my sweet," he murmured, leaning against a mop for support as he picked the creature up. His pouchy, pasty face and pale, bulging eyes softened as he stroked its head. Edward was about to apologize when he spat. "You! What did you do to my cat?"

"N-nothing! I – it – it wasn't on purpose!" he sputtered.

"Out of class! Sneaking around corridors! And attacking poor old Mrs. Norris for no reason! You'll be serving detentions for a month when I bring this to your Head of House." He pointed the mop handle at him in some semi-combative pose.

It stirred the fighter in him, an instinctual reaction from years of battle. But for some reason, Edward couldn't take the rheumatic man with a mop for a weapon as a serious opponent. Wait. Did he say "Head of House"?

"You think I'm a student?" Edward sputtered for an entirely different reason.

"Eh?" his stance loosened.

"Verdammte Scheiße! JUST BECAUSE I'M NOT A SUPER GIANT WALKING HULK OF A MOUNTAIN DOESN'T MAKE ME A KID! I'M ALMOST TWENTY! AN ADULT! ADULT!" He yanked the mop out of his hand and waved it around to make his point, spraying the man with dirty mop water and earning more hisses from the cat. "AND YOU," sticking the mop head up to the cat's face. "YOU CAME OUT OF NOWHERE! SO IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"

The cat continued hissing and howling. It was fighting its way out of its stunned owner's arm when Edward chucked the mop and stalked away. He muttered to himself the whole way to his classroom. Something about annoying old men and crazy cats – why did Al like them so much anyways – making him late.

"Alright, shut up and sit down!" He yelled, banging the door open. But it wasn't necessary.

The students were all sitting quietly, books and quills placed neatly on their desks. He thought they were the most well-behaved bunch of eleven-year olds in the world. The reason for that became alarmingly clear as he spotted a pink figure that was decidedly not in first year.

"Ms. Umbridge," said Edward of the thing that did not belong. "What are you doing here?"

"_Tut_, _tut_," the squat woman made the noise with her tongue. "Class started ten minutes ago. Professor Elric."

"You haven't answered my question," Edward said, his earlier anger threatening to bubble over. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, Professor Elric, how awfully un-informed you are," she said, oozing with condescension, "Surely you've read the papers this morning. As Hogwarts' High Inquisitor, it's my responsibility to evaluate the quality of education at this school." She smacked her lips for a dramatic pause, "you didn't think you would be exempted, did you?"

"Wha –"

"The Headmaster may have waved you from the normal age requirement for professor-ship, but don't expect to ride on his favourtism alone. I do not wish to criticize the way this school's been run, but for too long, the children of Hogwarts have had to endure some very irresponsible and sub-par –"

"You'd be better at it than me. Isn't that what you're trying to say?" He cut her off, remembering their conversation from last night. "You were supposed to get the job before Dumbledore gave it to me."

"Manners, boy," she snapped. "You are now under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain, and if you don't learn some manners, well, you may not find yourself welcomed much longer."

"Oh really? Does the Ministry make a habit out of threatening to school teachers?" he said hotly.

"Not a threat, just some friendly advice," she said with sickening sweetness. "Now please, do continue, or rather, start, teaching as you would normally."

If looks could kill, Delores Umbridge would make a fine spatter on the wall.

"Now listen here," said Edward, his anger having reached the boiling point. "_You_ are not my friend, nor do I want you to be. If you want to sit here, fine. Be my guest. But don't think for a_ second_ I'm scared of you. I don't care if you're the fucking Minister himself. This is the last time you call me _boy_! My name is Edward Elric!"

He thought she'd be intimidated, as most people do when he goes on a rant, but she just looked rather unaffected.

"Quite a temper we have here," she said with grim satisfaction, pulling out a clipboard from her atrociously pink bag.

Edward felt his eyebrow twitch. This woman was seriously ticking him off. How much trouble would he get into if he made a hole beneath her seat?

He was calculating the density of the floor when he became aware of two dozen pairs of eyes staring at him. The students! He completely forgot about them. Pulling out the roster, he was secretly thankful they were only first years.

"Err… right," feeling suddenly nervous, he suppressed the urge to scratch his cheek. "As you've probably gathered, I'm Edward Elric, your professor –" the word sounded strange on his tongue, "for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Err… So. First years. The objective of this course is to – I mean – for you to learn to protect, um… defend yourselves from anyone, or anything, I suppose, who wants to hurt, kill or maim you." Various imagines of his training with Izumi came up, and he thought maybe that wasn't so good of an introduction. "Err… not that… I mean, you shouldn't expect any sudden attacks at breakfast or anything, though that would make training go faster, I suppose –"

There was a sudden clatter of wood against marble as a particularly nervous first-year jumped and knocked his wand on the floor. A shower of white sparks burst from the wand tip as it struck.

"S-s-sorry," squeaked the skinny little boy with mousy black hair. Amidst snickers from the class, he nearly knocked his chair over as he picked up his wand. Somewhere in the background, Umbridge could be heard muttering "threaten students with cruel and unusual punishment".

He was about to snap at Umbridge again when he noticed the little boy was holding the wand backwards, pointing the tip at his own chest. Suppressing the instinct to rip the wand away, he took the opportunity to survey the class. Almost half the class had their wands in placed in such a way that could easily hurt themselves, or someone else, if discharged accidentally. If nothing else, eight months of apprenticeship in wand-making has taught him the volatility of that stick of wood in inexperienced hands.

"Raise your hands if you've ever used magic," he asked. "With a wand." Umbridge was now the least of his worries. Less than half a dozen hands rose, most of the students looked utterly confused. Unsurprisingly, the skinny little boy was not among them.

"Of those of you with your hands up, who lives with magical fol – uh, I mean, wizards?" The raised hands became even sparser.

He surveyed the class again and sighed. No wonder they were acting as if they've only picked up a wand yesterday – or more likely, the day before yesterday. For such an important part of their way of life, these kids were awfully new at – it struck him just then, how _young_ these kids really were. Even if they grew up in a wizarding household, most young wizards don't get wands till they're eleven.

As he looked upon those budding, impressionable faces, he remembered he was about their age when he lost his limbs. Ah… What a fool he'd been back then, so naïve to the consequences of his plan. If any of these kids figured it out, started playing with spells that they can't control… Magic was every bit, and perhaps even more so, as dangerous as alchemy. Where his sin was of his own making, he was damned if he was going to let it happen to anyone else. He began again with renewed vigor.

"Alright. First lesson: wand safety. You," he pointed to the boy who dropped his wand earlier, who visibly jumped. "What's your name?"

"E-Euan, sir. Euan Abercrombie," squeaked the scared little boy.

"Never leave your wand where you cannot reach easily. Keep it close and not _dangling_ on an edge. You there," he said, approaching to a pudgy boy two rows down. "Your name?"

"Malcolm McGregor, sir," he said scrambling to pull his wand close.

"Good. 'Cause if this lady in front of you suddenly got out of her seat, knocked it down, and stepped on it, then the only thing you, Mr. McGregor, would have would be a expensive piece of firewood."

Satisfied he made his point he turned to address the rest of the class. "Always point the wand away from yourself, even when you're not touching it. A powerful enough connection between the wand and the welder can lead to spells being fired off even when the wand is not in your hands – So I'd appreciate it if you didn't point it towards me either."

From there, he prattled on about the basic precautions one should take when handling a wand. Sometime in the middle of his lecture, the students smartened up and began to take notes. When the bell tolled at the end of the double period, he assigned a homework essay on wand care.

"How long, sir?" asked Connie Chang, a petite girl who vaguely reminded him of May Chang.

"Err… two, three pages?" that was the average length of his reports to Mustang. At several confused looks, he then corrected himself. "I want two feet of parchment. Due at the end of the week."

He forgot all the writing they do here were on rolls of parchment. Technically, one sheet of parchment is the whole roll, nearly two hundred feet long.

"Hem hem," said Umbridge, approaching him just as last of the students filed out. "That quite unorthodox for Defense Against the Dark Art, Professor Elric. I gather this is your first time teaching?"

"Yes," he answered curtly.

Umbridge made a note on her clipboard.

"You said last night, you were home schooled?"

"Er... yeah," said Edward.

"I see," she said, making another note on her clipboard. "Who was your teacher?"

Edward stiffened, as he always does whenever someone asked too many questions about his past.

"What's it to you?"

Umbridge paused in her scribbles. "As High Inquisitor, I have a responsibility to verify the quality of your training, your qualifications for your position."

"Dumbledore obviously thinks it's good enough. Why don't you ask him?" he jutted his chin defiantly. Only then did he think it might not be such a good idea to send her to Dumbledore. Who knew what the wily old man might say.

"If you insist on being un-cooperative to my inspections, Professor Elric, then you leave me no choice but to take disciplinary action and bring this matter to the Board of Governors –"

"Izumi Curtis."

"Excuse me?" Umbridge sputtered

"EE-zoo-mee Curtis," he said with deliberate slowness. "My teacher. Though you won't find her anywhere."

"Oh? And why would that be?" she fixed her beady eyes on him.

"She likes to keep a low profile," answered Edward, which was not a complete lie. Despite being one of the strongest people in Amstris, in both alchemy and martial arts, Izumi rarely announced herself as anything other than a housewife. Umbridge however, did not like the sound of that.

"I see," said Umbridge again, stowing her clipboard away. "Well, it seems we are out of time today. You will receive the results of your inspections within ten days, during which you may be subject to further inspections."

"Looking forward to it," he added cheekily.

Edward retreated to his office when at last, the door swung close to an empty class room. The morning was not yet over, and he was already exhausted. His office was very simply decorated… well, more like un-decorated. His stuff was strewn everywhere as he was too tired to un-pack last night. Out the south-side window was the lake, its murky waters hiding depths. To the west was an oval-shaped stadium, with three large hoops at each end, visible high above the terrace.

The rain slowed to a fine drizzle, but the change in air pressure still sent jolts of pain up his nerves when he moved a certain way. He suspected a loose wire in there somewhere, and knew he was long overdue for a check-up. But he'd need his mechanic. There wasn't enough time when he was in London for Rolf to inspect the wiring – some greasing and bolt-tightening was all there was time for. Not a full inspection like Winry would do. Rolf was slow. In comparison. It wasn't a fair of him to compare him to Winry, especially considering she could build him an arm from scratch in forty-eight hours. He was very grateful for having Rolf, but times like this… he really missed her.

He was brought out of his reverie by a tap on the glass. An owl sat on the window sill with one leg stuck out. For a moment, he thought the bird had a hurt its leg and was asking him for help – that is before he saw it held a small roll of parchment. He let the tawny owl in, mildly perplexed seeing as a whole battalion of owls rained down the Great Hall a mere two hours ago. It took off as soon as Edward extricated the letter.

_Dear Professor E. Elric_

_In accordance with Education Decree Twenty-two, please be advised inspections for your Defense Against the Dark Arts class will take place this afternoon, at two o'clock._

_Sincerely,_

_Delores Jane Umbridge_

_High Inquisitor of Hogwarts_

He read the note again and scowled. If his inspection was supposed to be in the afternoon, then what was that fiasco this morning?

It pained him to admit it, but Umbridge was right about one thing, he didn't know all that much about how things worked in Wizarding Britain. No. Scratch that. He didn't know all that much about Wizarding anywhere. Yet through some cosmic coincidence, he landed himself a job as a teacher. Oh Hell – this was the first time he's ever taught anything to anybody. _Professor_ Elric, they called him. Professor. What a joke. And if that wasn't bad enough Edward was, of all things, a professor of _magic_ – a subject he himself had only known about for two years; a subject where he'd better off being the student.

Still, that didn't mean he was completely un-qualified for his position. He had a more _intimate_ understanding of magic than he suspected any wizard alive – much of this knowledge kept secret from even his mentor, Igor Gregorovitch. The knowledge was dangerous. He doubt Gregorovitch would understand anyways. Additionally, he was more than capable of handling of himself in a fight, be it with magic or alchemy, or just bare-hand – as long as his opponent was not Izumi Curtis… or Alphonse Elric… or Major General Olivier Armstrong.

His confidence in his fighting abilities did not keep him from hitting the books. He dug out _The __Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble and began making lesson plans. His own educational experience was not one he could replicate here. He didn't have the luxury of an isolated island for every two students to teach them the meaning of "_all is one, one is all_". And he certainly didn't have twenty people in his command to chase after the kids to train them in martial arts. Not that he would ever want to employ the Izumi Curtis method on anyone.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, and indeed all the magic wizards use, is not about simply pointing a wand and uttering some quasi-latin phrase. Magic, as far as he could tell, was weaved together by many consecutive and concurrent alchemic reactions. For most alchemists, controlling so many reactions at once is more than their minds can handle. The only way wizards were able to do so is with the help of a wand, which creates a natural order of the flow of energy. That was why he got into wand-making in the first place.

Spellwork wasn't his favourite. His own repertoire of spells was very limited. Most days, he couldn't tell the difference between jinxes and hexes. Beyond the superficial effects, all magic is essentially the same. If he was going to teach these kids anything, it was going to be anything but conventional.

A battle is not always won by those with the most firepower, not that it doesn't help to be carrying the big guns. Alchemy wasn't the only thing that won fights – Lan Fan and Yao Ling were proof enough. Edward's best asset has always been his speed. Arms and legs were infinitely more useful than any magic stick or circle. No spell can hurt you if it doesn't reach its mark. King Bradley's battle prowess was only in small part due to alchemic interventions. Sure he had his Ultimate Eye to give him an uncanny ability to read the opponent in a fight, but his inhuman level of skill in swordsmanship really had nothing to do with being a homunculus. So Edward may not have a private island, it did not mean he couldn't teach these kids some basics.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Alas poor Charity Burbage. A character with such a kind name killed without ever appearing on screen.<p>

Several reviewers have asked about what Dumbledore saw in Edward's head. On this subject, I have no plans to give an explicitly answer, but you will see later. Also on comments about sticking too closely to cannon… cannon is the fabric from which all fan-fiction is weaved.

Edward's met a lot of characters in this chapter, and I've decided he definitely does not like Umbridge. I hope you've enjoyed his interactions. And I hope you like his little outbursts (Ed would not be Ed without them). They say first impressions last… Edward hasn't made many good ones.

No translations of few phrases in German (I just hope I got them right), they are meant to give meaning through the context. They won't come up very often, and I don't speak a word of German, so I hope it's not too annoying for you guys.

Here is where I must profusely apologize. I promised class with the Golden Trio in the chapter and if you've read it to this far.. you've seen that it's nowhere to be found. Truth is, I have it written. And it was planned to be in this chapter. This was going to be an extra long chapter to make up for the extra short chapter that was the last chapter. But... I'm struggling to find a good stopping point for that scene.. or rather, I'm struggling with writing out the end of the scene. With the way writing has been in these last few months... It's going to be another three months before I get this chapter out, and I didn't want to do that. So here ya go. A slightly less than promised update... but an update nonetheless.

I hope you enjoyed! And let me know of any mistakes!


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